


Cherish

by babyrubysoho



Series: Cherish [1]
Category: Nightmare (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Consensual Violence, Dictator Sakito, Dominance, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Sakito, Face Slapping, Fighting Kink, M/M, Master/Pet, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Ruka POV, Ruka is Sakito's dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, I've written Sakito with everyone else in the past. So now it's Ruka's turn. Poor Ruka...<br/>This delightful fic is full of sex, violence, and people being total and absolute bitches. Be warned!</p><p>*Note: I am currently transferring 12 years’ worth of my fic from various murky corners of the Net to AO3. So if this looks familiar, that’s probably why. Either that or I’m just appallingly unoriginal…*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherish

I was going to start the whole thing with one of our lyrics. But screw it, it's a good song and I don't want to spoil it for myself by making it all about _me_. So to kick this off, here's some Elvis, which explains things almost as well:

 

_You look like an angel_

_Walk like an angel_

_Talk like an angel_

_But I got wise: You're the Devil in disguise_

 

* * *

 

 

I'm just like his dog.

No, wait. While I'm being honest let's at least call things by their proper names. I'm his _bitch_ , with all the humiliation and gratification it entails.

And if I'm the bitch then who's the master?

  


He's looking at me right now, bewitching body angled towards me enquiringly.

“Ruka-san?”

I blink and quit staring at his legs, and remember where I am: in the middle of a Shoxx interview, my other bandmates regarding me with amusement as I wake sulkily from my reverie. Oh yeah. Should I be speaking now? There's a warning edge in his voice that's pitched for my ear alone, and like a good dog I come to heel. He raises his fine head on his elegant little neck, and watches me appraisingly as I reply to whatever the hell question the interviewer asked me. My muscles relax as he tilts his chin in approval.

And there you have it. There he is, in all his glory, geeky and beautiful and cruel: Edokawa Sakito. My master.

How did _this_ come about? you may wonder. This frankly unlikely combination. How did I, legendary 'S', end up at Sakito's feet?

You know, I'm sometimes as mystified as you.

Okay. _Being_ honest: I'm a bully, and I know it. But like most of my kind, I only bully _down_ (in effect that means Yomi, and Hitsu-kun sometimes, in the gentlest way possible; Ni~ya-chan just laughs and ignores me). Somehow, Sakito has always been above me. Not on a pedestal or anything. Just...untouchable.

Until suddenly he wasn't.

It all started with sex. Well, actually, it started with an argument, and at the time I had no _idea_ where it was headed. But he made it clear soon enough.

Now, for Nightmare – we happy few (except Hitsu-kun, who gets spoiled rotten) – Sakito has always basically filled the role of nagging wife; okay, so he doesn't cook our dinner and we don't get an obligatory once-a-week shag, but in most other respects the comparison works: if we're late or hungover or not getting our drum fills just right, we all know to expect a wrinkle of that pretty nose and a subtle stream of criticism until we finally get our asses in gear out of sheer vexation.

So I wasn't at all surprised, much less perturbed, when he glided up to me in the studio storage room after work, wearing the miss-priss-librarian look that told me I was in for a scolding. I just slid a cymbal into its bag and gave him my routine glare.

“Spit it out.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the new song,” Sakito said innocently. Ah. _My_ new song.

“Yes?”

“How to put it.” I waited; you don't interrupt Sakito when he's cracking the whip, there's literally no point. He doesn't listen and he always gets his way. “The pre-chorus hook, it needs an extra something, don't you think?” He wasn't actually asking, so I kept quiet. He ran a thoughtful finger along the voluptuous body of one of his guitars in its rack. “Let me do something with it.”

“Oh.” It was entirely possible he was right. But I had a good feeling about this song, and he never said a thing when we were sorting out the primary instrument parts. Now it was this far along in its development, now I'd got attached to it, saying he wanted to change it was kind of like telling someone their girlfriend is ugly and you want to give her a facelift. Just not done. Sakito knew this perfectly well, and had chosen to ignore it. Of course I know why, _now_ ; but at the time it set my teeth on edge.

“The thing is...” he began, “when it comes to transitions you have a bit of a blind spot. Musically.” Whoa now. This was all getting rather personal rather quickly. Sakito was usually a lot more roundabout in his run-up to criticism, and the words stung.

“A fine time to tell me, after a decade.” Sakito shrugged apologetically.

“I didn't like to say. You get so grouchy.”

“I do not.” I was getting nettled.

“You do.” He looked at me warily. “And once you start sulking it's a lot of extra work for us, mediating between you and the rest of the world until we can get you to snap out of it.” I gaped at him: there's a line of politeness you don't cross, not even with your friends, and Sakito used to be more aware of it than anyone. But he was skirting dangerously close to it right now.

“Thanks a lot, Saki.”

“I'm telling you this for your benefit,” he said, with a little toss of his graceful head. “As well as ours.”

“Oh really.”

“I'm just saying that if you had better control over your moods, we wouldn't be so nervous of coming to you with problems. And your musicianship might improve.”

“At least I'm not such a goddam perfectionist that I drive all my colleagues crazy.” Oh. Oh no, what was I doing? You did _not_ criticise Sakito back. You just didn't.

“There's nothing wrong with attention to detail,” he said coolly, tilting his head back to look down his nose at me. He can act so _superior_ when he wants to.

“Not in itself,” I countered, feeling myself flush darkly with annoyance under that stare. “But when it gets to the point where everyone in the studio cringes when you open your mouth and say 'yeah,　 _but_...', you know you've got a problem.” I saw his eyes narrow at that, but I didn't care; I was getting genuinely angry, because this was rapidly devolving from constructive nagging into a mud-slinging match.

“It beats being a slacker.” Slacker! If anyone knew how hard I worked it was Sakito, both of us songwriters, both of us leaders.

“And better to be a _slacker_ than a pedantic bastard.” He breathed in sharply, lovely eyes flashing, but never raised his voice.

“You are an arrogant son of a bitch, Ruka.” Oh, we were _way_ off base now. I looked him up and down, my incensed gaze running over his skin-tight jeans, the low, swooping neck of his tshirt that bared the smooth skin of his sternum, his unnecessarily beautiful face, and spat out the first thing that came into my head.

“And you're an egotistical little slut!” Bad. Bad, bad, bad, and it felt _good_.

Sakito sighed through his nose at the insult, raised a pale hand with a calculating expression, and slapped me hard across the face. And for a minute, just a minute, everything went dark.

No, I didn't swoon or have a fainting fit (it hurt, but Sakito is a lot smaller than me and not exactly buff). My vision blurred and I totally lost track of our relative positions, true, not because I'm a total wimp but because I was shocked, and _furious_ , to a degree I'd never imagined I could be. I didn't even notice myself move, I was so taken aback by it.

The next thing I knew, from the black haze of anger, was that I had him forced up against the wall, my left arm hard across his throat, pinning him there. Now, I'm not generally a violent man – not physically, anyway – and for a second I was genuinely shocked to see what I'd done. I was about to let him down and apologise with bad grace, because I'd taken things too far, never mind that　 _he'd_ started it. Sakito just bared his neat little teeth at me and had a spirited go at kneeing me in the groin. Well, so much for my good intentions: I increased the pressure of my arm until he whimpered.

“You fucking _jerk_.”

Sakito didn't (obviously _couldn't_ ) answer. Instead he reached out and, to my shock, slid his slender arms around my waist, dragging me against him. The flash of heat as his body met mine made me twitch in surprise, and I almost let him go as I realised with horror that I was hard. That first moment was probably the most disturbing thing that had ever happened to me to date, because I was _not_ the kind of guy to get a boner at being belittled by my (male!) friends or by the prospect of physical violence.

But there it was. And Sakito was not helping by grinning breathlessly and sliding one hand between my legs. I let up on his throat as I recoiled.

“Oh, _Ruka_ ,” he said, with an air of such smugness and scorn that I wanted to punch him. I felt myself stir beneath his fingers, and pushed him, trying to get some space between us. He pushed me back, roughly, and I heard myself growl. Then I grabbed him. I don't even know why, I just couldn't _stand_ the way he'd shoved me, like I was something completely distasteful.

“Get off,” he ordered, stamping hard on my foot, which I barely felt, not when his entire body was shifting like warm sand against mine. My knee slid between his legs and he bit his lip; to my astonishment I could feel his erection against my thigh, but he was still pushing at me, fingers scorching and angry. I pressed my cheek to his and dragged my hands down his sides, capturing him effectively between the wall and my body.

“What...the _fuck_...are you doing?” I whispered; I could hear the incensed tremble in my voice and it made everything worse. “Do you even _know_?!” Sakito heaved in a breath.

“ _You want this, you want me_ ,” he gasped into my ear, goading me on deliberately even as his hands came up to cover his belt buckle protectively. I was so damn confused! And horny, and　 _angry_. I grabbed his wrists and forced his hands aside, and as I ripped open his jeans I felt his nails digging through my shirt. So far as I could tell he was putting up a real fight (it hurt like hell, anyway), and all the while his lips were on my ear, my neck, mouthing insults and encouragement into my skin.

I pushed one hand beneath his tshirt, lifting it, and _oh_ , the feel of that perfect stomach beneath my fingers was like heaven. He shivered against me, and by then I had shoved his jeans and black underwear down and he was as hard as I was. That settled it. I pulled him tighter to me, the sensation almost making me stagger. He turned his head away swiftly so I kissed his throat instead, the long line of his neck burning under my lips.

“If you don't want it,” I managed, taking a laboured breath, “...say, _now_...!”

No answer, just a faint sniff of derision. I was going to do it. I was actually going to do it, I was going to fuck the most beautiful man in Japan, and I was going to make him _sorry_. And the mad thing is that at the time it felt so _logical_ ; of course I now realise that the best thing to do would have been to rise above the whole sordid argument and walk away the moral victor. But until you've had Sakito's celestial body simmering against yours and heard his barbed words in your ear, you can't _begin_ to imagine how difficult that was.

Anyway, in the heat of the moment none of this crossed my mind. I just pushed my knee more forcefully between his long legs (the jeans had disappeared some time during the arousing course of his struggles) and spread them wider. I spat into my hand, keeping him braced against the wall, and slid my fingers between his thighs.

“Bite your tongue.” Sakito let his head fall back and did as he was told, clenching his fine jaw and remaining resolutely silent as I pushed a finger inside him, then another, though I could tell it was more out of pride than because he felt like obeying me. I caught his initial wince, and allowed myself a humourless smile. Again, I wasn't thinking about what this could do to him, to _us_ ; all I knew was that I wanted him, and that I wanted to hurt him.

As soon as Sakito's eyes began to flutter closed and the tension eased in the line of his neck, I left off my preparations, perfunctory as they were, and yanked my own clothing aside. Pressing an ungentle kiss to the spot where his jugular vein raced beneath the skin, I set my hands to his hips and lifted him effortlessly off the ground.

That got me a swift inhalation of breath, and his arms went around my neck, nails leaving red crescents in my skin. Then I was inside him and he was _tight_ , tighter than any woman I've ever had, letting out a raw sound through clenched white teeth and curling his thighs around my waist as I shifted him higher.

“ _God_!” I'd never felt anything like it, and I never will again: it _had_ to be his first, judging by the brief, shocked stillness as I began to move, followed by a stubborn scowl as he attempted awkwardly to dictate the rhythm. I was having none of it; it felt fabulous, the fierce sense of pleasure doubling with every moan, every fleeting expression of uncertainty, and I wanted to keep him that way. I know I wasn't being careful, I just needed _more_ of it, and judging by the ribbons of skin Sakito was ripping off the back of my neck he wanted to damage me as badly as I did him.

“Hurts...! Ruka...” he ground out as I increased the pace, my arms burning with the continued effort of supporting him. I ignored him, and he grabbed a fistful of my stylish new hairdo and yanked on it, making me grit my teeth and thrust into him harder. He swore at me so loudly it almost jolted me out of my rhythm; I clapped a hand over his mouth and he promptly bit me.

“Fuck...!” I snatched it back, too angry to check if he'd drawn blood, and set my palm to his brow, knocking his head back against the wall with unthinking force. He cried out at that and gave me a pained, insolent smile; I shoved my hand across his lips again, taking care not to get too close to his teeth this time, and was amazed when he just glared at me and gave a fluid undulation of his hips, sinking down further onto my cock and making me gasp helplessly into his hair. He always smelled so good.

I was almost at the edge, but the hurt, resentful part of me, the bitter part I was only just discovering, made me want to prolong it as long as possible, just so I could drag out every sound of discomfort he could make to gloat over after all this was done with. And, to my somewhat wolfish delight, I was no longer getting a lot of opposition.

Sakito was moaning raggedly into my hand, ethereal features half obscured by my fingers so all I could see were his closed eyes, tears springing from the corners to sparkle against his skin like ice, but it felt too good inside him to stop any time soon, and I was too furious to even entertain the idea. Perhaps I tried to slow down once, but he just clung tighter to me, hands sliding beneath my shirt and fingers biting hard into my back, dragging me closer, deeper, until I could feel him pressed rigid and excited against my stomach.

“Don't you want...this _over_?” I managed, my voice guttural with lust and aggression, and now I half hoped the answer would be yes because I was so tightly wound, all my limbs screaming surrender and my mind sick with pleasure.

“ _Yes_!” growled Sakito as I removed my hand, his fist thumping against my shoulder-blade enthusiastically. I sank my head against his throat, tasting salt beneath my lips, and felt one of his arms leave its strangle-hold around my neck to slip between our bodies. His moans changed key; I knew he was touching himself, and just the thought of it was so delicious that I nearly came that second.

I managed to hang on though, because the last thing I needed now was for him to see me give in, and soon I was rewarded by the press of his sleek torso against mine as he arched his back and climaxed; I dragged my head back and was just in time to watch him come, and goddammit the bastard looked _angelic_ , that beautiful face blank and bright with ecstasy. It was completely extraordinary, and gave me the excuse I needed to let go; I pulled him back towards me and he allowed it, gasping for breath and whining sharply as my teeth met in his shoulder.

It seemed to go on forever, the best and the worst thing I had ever felt, my hands raising bruises in the soft flesh of his buttocks, his breathing tearful and triumphant in my ear. But it couldn't have lasted longer than ten seconds, and it was certainly no more than thirty before the mindless pleasure began to ebb and my brain clicked dutifully back on, one shamed synapse at a time.

I let Sakito go all at once, and he slid down until his feet hit the floor. Those long, marvellous legs were trembling like a baby animal's, and he leaned back against the wall, biting his lip. I _did_ hurt him.

“I'm _sorry_ -” I heard myself say in a horrified voice, suddenly appalled at what I'd done. He heaved in a harsh breath. I reached out for him, I don't know what I meant to do, steady him, hold him, maybe just touch him because he still looked so stunning it dazzled me.

Before I could figure it out he moved like a snake, grabbing my outstretched arm and _twisting_ until I felt my balance go. Sakito was in the _aikido_ club in junior high. Bet you didn't know _that_. Neither did I, until I was flat on my back on the floor and wondering what the hell had happened (Hitsu-kun told me later that Sakito was so damn pretty, even back in the day, that his friends were forever coming up with over-dramatic doomsday predictions of the terrible hentai-manga things that might happen to him on the way home from school, and had eventually ganged up and insisted he take self-defence classes. I can attest to the fact that they worked).

Sakito gave me a complicated look that partly radiated satisfaction and partly suggested that, in his opinion, I now ranked somewhere on the same moral level as a woodlouse. I was still lying there, winded, as he slipped back into his jeans, struggling on his wobbly colt's legs. He gave me another searing glance and left. I considered how I was feeling right now: I _hurt_ , and my body was singing with pleasure, and jesus fucking christ, what had I _done_?

I covered my eyes with my hands.

  
  


And that was how it started. After that, he _had_ me. I just didn't know it yet.

I didn't see him that weekend. I worked on my solo project, took my car to be serviced, and played some _MonHan_. And spent the entire time feeling like a rapist, or at least the perpetrator of domestic abuse. By the time work began on Monday I was royally screwed up (well, I thought so at the time; in hindsight, I was practically living the life of Riley compared to what would come later), just imagining how horrific our meeting would be and what he might have told the others about me.

Sakito just gave me the same breezy smile he gave everyone else, offered me a potato chip, then whipped out his notepad and pen and began to organise our schedule. As official band leader I kept my mouth shut and let him get on with it, as did our manager. I doubt if I could have come up with a coherent sentence in any case: I was too busy staring. If I'd thought he was beautiful before (and I always did), it was nothing to how he looked that morning when he shot me that smile. I ducked my head down and checked him surreptitiously for telltale marks of what I'd done to him: his white throat where I'd pinned him to the wall, his slender wrists where I'd grabbed him. But his skin was the smooth and perfect canvas it always had been.

I didn't know what to say to him; I was so sorry, and so grateful, and it always took me a long time to come up with something articulate – whether that meant interviews, lyrics, or just apologising to this man I'd worked with and had fun with and respected for over a decade. And every time he flashed that smile at me it got harder.

That's how he got me, see. Oh, he's clever. He laid his trap perfectly, with its tantalising bait of guilt and forgiveness and brave little smiles, and I circled it without even knowing what I was doing, nervous at first of approaching but getting gradually closer, wanting to be near him like I never had before. He played me like a fish on a line, letting me reel myself in. And then he simply reached out and caught me.

It took three days before he finally took pity on me, and they went _slowly_. By then I was aching to apologise, to find out what I'd need to do to make things better between us. Sakito made sure I never got the chance, using his organisational pull to ensure that he wouldn't find himself alone with me, and looking so sweet and oblivious throughout that I didn't have the heart to force him into a confrontation. And the longer this went on, the sorrier I was.

When I finally got the opportunity, it was by accident, or at least I thought so at the time. Now I'm not so sure. We'd been doing more album rehearsals that day, and Sakito, as usual, was careful to finish his parts before me. My peripheral senses, ever aware of his presence, noticed him leave, but I was busy with my tech; so I resigned myself to another lonely day of guilt.

A few minutes later Kenji reminded me that I'd promised him the _Steins;Gate_ doujinshi novel I'd bought in Akiba a few weeks ago (I only ever read this stuff once), so I trudged down to my car to fetch it while he was changing the skin on my snare drum. As I entered the cool, dim underground car-park I heard the echo of footsteps, then caught sight of a slender shape flitting between the cars. I only knew one person who moved like that.

“Sakito!” I called, and the figure stopped and turned towards me. I don't know if he was taking a short-cut through the car-park or whether he'd waited there deliberately, but he didn't seem surprised. “Can I talk to you?” I demanded as I panted up to him. Sakito blinked, looking, as usual, like nothing had happened between us at all.

“If you like.” He leaned back against the side of the car where he'd stopped ( _my_ car, as it happened), shining chocolate hair spilling over the metal as he relaxed. “What is it?”

I sighed. _What is it_. He looked so innocent, so serene, that I almost didn't want to spoil it for him by bringing up the events of the previous week. What an idiot I was back then (as if I'm any smarter now). Still, I screwed up my courage and got ready.

“Well, I...Look, I want to apologise.” Sakito's friendly expression flickered for a moment.

“Pardon?” For all I knew, he was trying his best to forget the whole experience; but I had to say it. It had been bad enough this week; maybe it was cruel of me, but I couldn't stand the remorse any longer without at least attempting to fix things.

“Let me say sorry. _Please_. Then I'll never mention any of this again.”

Sakito looked up searchingly into my face, and for a long minute I had an uninterrupted view of that bright, naïve expression. That was the last I ever saw of it: his gaze stilled and he pointed imperiously to the floor at his feet.

“ _Down_.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” I said, taken aback. Sakito smiled at me sweetly.

“You want to act sorry? Fine with me. Get on your knees and _apologise_.” He spoke calmly, but the words hit my ears with venom; I'd got it wrong, I thought, he must still be _furious_. It wasn't until much later, looking back on it, that I realised he wasn't: Sakito is very rarely angry, I know now; he just uses the _possibility_ to persuade my brain and my body into punishing me. And, to be honest, most of the time I've done something to deserve it. Or maybe he just makes me _think_ I have. Fuck, I don't even know any more.

In any event, this was all still new to me, and I'd been feeling guilty. It was almost a relief to drop to the floor at his feet, the cold concrete scraping my knees.

“Saki,” I said, not sounding particularly gracious, but then I wasn't used to this; “I'm _sorry_. Really.” Sakito didn't acknowledge that, but he didn't dismiss it either. I kept my eyes on his shoes, not ready to see his face. He remained silent; after a while he began to drum his fingers against the car at his back, nails clicking on the black steel in a way that set my teeth on edge. Some more silence. “Aren't you gonna _say_ anything?” I demanded eventually. I was getting worried: I could feel my contrition beginning to ebb away into my customary moodiness, and some sorry it would turn into then.

“ _Once_ you've apologised,” said Sakito, stilling his fingers abruptly, “then I might.”

“I-” Sitting back on my heels, I finally looked up at him. Well, glared. “All right. I just said I was sorry. What more do you _want_?” He lolled back more comfortably against my car, slid his fingers across his flat stomach to his belt buckle, and raised his eyebrows at me. I felt my jaw drop.

“ _That's_ the way,” he said drily, and the next sound I heard was his zip. “You can talk at me with that sulky fucking attitude till the cows come home, Ruka, it won't make you sound convincing. Or you can actually make your mouth useful and _show_ me how sorry you are.”

You can imagine my reaction to this: disbelief, anger, a wash of bitter amusement, and finally the swift and inevitable onset of horniness. This _is_ Sakito we're talking about, after all, and whatever else he may be...holy _hell_ is he arousing.

So I apologised. At length. With _feeling_. And, in a way, you could say I've never got off all fours since.

  
  
  


And so we began. Once I knew he _wanted_ me, or at least wanted what my body could do for him, I became obsessed. My temper, never exactly vaunted for its stability, was now on a hair-trigger, and it seemed like the barest word of criticism from Sakito was enough to set it off. It's not my fault; well, not just my fault: he was training me that way, I'm sure. Soon it was an almost Pavlovian response: arguments with Sakito led to sex with Sakito, which was the only time I could hurt him, and my subconscious learned to explode at the first harsh word. And that's what he wanted all along, a kind of mental button he could push that would have me standing to attention at a moment's notice.

Why does he pick on _me_? I find myself wondering, even now. Why not Hitsu-kun, who would probably give his eye-teeth to be Sakito's private plaything and would be so much less trouble to train? I was almost feral in those first days, crazy with confusion, and it amazes me that he thought me worth the effort.

It's one of the things that's been bothering me since this began: why _did_ Sakito choose me? Is it because he thought I'd be a challenge, or because he thought I'd be a pushover? I'm not sure which is worse. It doesn't do a lot for the state of my ego either way. All I ever wanted was someone I could be a considerate lover to, be friends with (and maybe bully just a little, in play). And look what I've got.

Sakito likes it rough, as rough as he can stand it, and he likes to fight back: every scratch I've dealt trying to fend him off is reflected double on my body. To give him credit he carries his own marks without complaint (though, since I don't dare aim for that beautiful face, or anywhere else on his body the cameras could document – and that doesn't leave me much leeway, not with _those_ costumes – he gets off relatively unscathed). Psychologically, I don't think I'm leaving any scars, any imprint at all. When I look in the mirror I feel like I'm stained with _him_ , his colour, the deep, unsettling red of a wound.

He has a good right arm, despite being such a willowy, flyaway thing. He likes to hit, and it shows (remember that one interview we did together a few months ago? Where Sakito looks like a white angel, shining away in the pictures like butter wouldn't melt, while I'm lurking around all sullen and shadowy beside him? I had a black eye that day – hence the pirate patch – which he gave me as a reward after basically riding me into the ground, and I _swear_ , nothing had ever been so painful or felt so good in my life before). He does it freely and with great enjoyment, because he knows that, even though we're both guys, there's a line of violence I just can't cross. I _want_ to; sometimes I want to go for the throat so badly that the struggle to hold myself back actually hurts. But I can't.

  
  
  


And that's where our relationship (can you even call it that?) stood a few months in: Sakito would initiate a colossal argument once or twice a week, usually next to a handy cupboard or studio car-park, and we would have magnificent, sordid sex that left us both reaching for the first-aid kit. If I hurt him particularly badly I'd find myself doing a few days of grovelling and trotting at his heels, knowing how undignified it was but unable to stop myself, until he grudgingly forgave me and the whole palaver could start up again.

That was it, the entire extent of it; you can describe it in a single paragraph. Apart from some casual accusations from the other guys about how snappish I was lately, the daily course of my life carried on as normal. Sometimes, when I was with my friends and feeling entertained, I could admit to myself how silly the whole thing was; or, even better, forget about it altogether.

I'm not sure if Sakito knew what I was thinking, or whether he just got bored one day and decided to mess with me some more. Either way, he wasn't content to let things lie, and before I knew it I was in deeper trouble than ever.

 

* * *

 

 

I'm not a very social person. Everyone knows this: I've said it in interviews time and again, as if my surly expressions and general muteness weren't enough of a give-away. Being in my apartment, with a friend or two ( _not_ Yomi!)...that's the best way to spend a weekend I can think of. Lame, I know. And at one point I was trying really hard to deal with it.

Sakito is perfectly aware of this; and it wasn't long before he figured out how to use it to his advantage, which of course means to my detriment. The first time went something like this:

“You coming to Aki-chan's party?” asked Hitsu-kun, whizzing past me on his way to the Barks lunch buffet before Yomi the Human Hoover could make away with all the mayo-shrimp.

“Where?” I demanded, looking up from my DS.

“Roppongi.” And he was gone. I felt myself make a face: travel more than fifteen minutes from my apartment and miss several hours of TV and sleep, all to watch Hitsu-kun get paralytic with his bosom buddy and narrowly avoid throwing up on some poor kouhai's shoes? I wasn't feeling it. But I was supposed to be making an effort.

“If you really don't want to go,” came a genial voice from behind me, “you don't have to.” Turning, I saw Sakito leaning over the back of my chair, lunch plate piled high. I gave him an incredulous stare: Sakito has a zero-tolerance policy for non-attendance at events thrown by important colleagues, and has been known to nag for up to three hours straight in order to get his way (which he always does).

“Says you,” I muttered. Sakito dropped a proprietary hand to the back of my neck, and his cool skin sent the usual ripple of resentful lust through me.

“I _do_ say. Stay home, chill out.”

“What're you up to?” I asked suspiciously. I felt a fingernail trail lightly along my vertebrae.

“Your sulking brings Hitsu down,” Sakito told me drily. “I'm just trying to keep my band happy.”

“ _My_ band,” I growled under my breath. Dammit, I was still leader!

“We quibble over terms.” He straightened up at the sight of Ni~ya-chan waving a pack of cigarettes invitingly at him. “Do you want to stay home or not?”

“Yes.”

“Well then.” He sashayed off, and I glared after him, feeling obscurely that I'd been outmanoeuvred somewhere along the line. But no. I got my own way. Didn't I?

  
  


As it turned out, I spent a quietly enjoyable evening eating takeaway pizza and dismantling my drum tech's broken laptop. Other than the occasional text from Yomi, updating me on the progress of his mission to find a girl tall enough that he could just walk straight up to her and stick his face in her cleavage (to which I didn't bother replying – it was never going to happen, unless Aki's party happened to be replete with Russian models), I didn't give a thought to what I was missing. All in all, I was delighted that Sakito had let me off the hook.

It was one a.m, and I was just on my way to bed, when my doorbell rang. This could not be good: the percentage of my friends likely to be paying me a sober visit in the small hours, especially after a night of festivities at Aki's, was not large. I grumped my way over to the genkan.

“There you are!” said Sakito, as if he'd had to knock on every door in the hallway before he finally found me. I stepped back in sheer surprise, and he wafted in on a cloud of expensive _ume-shuu_ and tipsy serenity. He dropped his bag on my kitchen floor, then began to examine his perfect nails with apparent fascination.

I allowed myself a quick smirk: he was squiffy, and a tanked-up Sakito is always really funny. At least, that's what I thought. More fool me.

“Have you been here this whole time?” he demanded irrelevantly, after almost a minute of scrutiny; he dropped his hands and fixed those dark eyes on me.

“Er, yes.” This was all very entertaining, but what was he doing here? It didn't seem like he wanted a fight, and if he just needed a place to crash Hitsu-kun's apartment was always his abode of choice. It was the first time, since this thing began, that he had come to my place. But it wasn't until much later that I realised how much letting him in had advanced his campaign of underhand tyranny, had given him the nod to encroach even further on my life. I know: I was an idiot.

“You haven't been out?”

“I think I just said as much,” I replied flatly.

“And you didn't have anyone round?” He'd been wandering in the direction of my fridge, but turned abruptly as he spoke and almost banged into me.

“ _No_ , Sakito. It's just been me, Yomi's fascinating social commentary, and the Gundam soundtrack. Wanna know if I talked to the pizza delivery guy? If I phoned the Speaking Clock? Well I didn't. All right?” Sakito gave me an over-long, appraising stare. Then,

“Good boy,” he said, and dropped to his knees. I'd barely realised where he'd gone before he was tearing my fly open hungrily and yanking my underwear down. Then his lips were on my cock and it was less than five seconds before I was hard: in our previous encounters I had been given every opportunity, when I wasn't busy punishing it, to worship Sakito's magnificent body; but he had barely shown any interest in _mine_ except as a tool that could give him pleasure.

“Saki...!” I heard myself quaver, and could have bitten my tongue at how needy I sounded. His mouth was soft and sweet as he kissed my stomach, then wickedly hot and wet as his lips closed over my erection. “Why the hell are you-” I began, almost as unnerved as I was aroused.

“Shut up!” Sakito gasped, taking a swift breath, one elegant hand sliding across my thigh to balance himself while the other created an airless vacuum around my cock. And then, after several more seconds of debilitating pleasure during which I could only gape and splutter wordlessly, “...You want your reward or not?”

“...For... _what_?” I managed, as his lips met his fingers and encased me in warm, liquid heaven. “For getting my own way...?!” I felt him chuckle in the back of his throat, and the subtle vibrations along my hard-on made me groan and reach down to grab a fistful of his rich hair. I didn't understand him, or this sudden one-eighty in attitude – but, frankly, right then I probably couldn't have come up with the correct answer to 'what is three plus three?', so I didn't worry too much about it.

Sakito was working hard by this time, eyes closed in concentration, lashes two perfect crescents against his cheeks; he gave a soft moan of effort, tongue working magic patterns across the underside of my cock. I felt almost faint at the sound, it was so erotic. I slid my fingers beneath his fine-boned jaw encouragingly, caressing his long, industrious throat. I may have been the first man to fuck him (I say _may_ ), but _this_ at least he had done before. Surely. I caught myself entertaining a brief rush of jealousy, but pushed it aside to get paranoid about later. Now, this moment, was too good to spoil.

By the time I came it felt like my entire body was burning ten degrees hotter, the air around me heavy and scented with whatever he'd been drinking and with _him_ : vanilla, lime, and a faint twist of smoke, smells that even now set my nerves jangling with danger and desire. I gazed down hazily at him; a vivid blush was spreading beneath his skin, his jaw slick and warm under my fingers as he increased the pace until I was biting down on my lip to stop myself crying out.

“ _Saki_...!” I croaked, and to this day I don't know if it was a warning or the beginning of a love declaration, because it just felt that incredible. Sakito opened his eyes and looked up at me, pupils dilated so far that they swallowed the luscious bistre of his irises almost completely. Taking a deep breath through his nose he tilted his head fluidly, and all of a sudden I was buried down his throat and speechless as his wicked tongue dragged across the base of my cock. I came then, twisting his smooth hair in my hands, and he stiffened below me but didn't try to get away.

I hadn't known sex could be so good without one or both of us getting hurt in the process, and it literally took my breath away. It took what seemed forever to come back from that sweet, thoughtless state of ecstasy, and once I'd regained control of myself and let him go Sakito was gasping too. He sat down quickly on the kitchen floor, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand in a movement that still managed to look dignified. How many people can do _that_?

“Drink?” I panted, yanking open the fridge and pulling out a beer with shaking hands. Sakito licked his lips and frowned slightly.

“Water.” His low voice was soft, a little hoarse from the rollercoaster ride he'd just given my dick; but not drunk, not any more. I handed him a glass, popped the tab of my beer and joined him exhaustedly on the floor. I didn't know what to say: we were being so weirdly _civil_ , and to come out with something like 'thanks for the quickie, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?' would just be rude, right? So we sat there, Sakito sipping at his water calmly.

“How was the party?” I asked in the end, picking at the cracks in the floor tiles with a fingernail.

“Pretty good.” Sakito began to straighten out his hair, the familiar double-handed sweep down his forelocks. “Hitsu puked in Aoi's shoulder-bag.”

“Oh, lovely.”

“It's okay,” he said, “Aoi was practically unconscious, he'll never know who it was.”

“I'll come next time,” I promised, encouraged by how naturally we were conversing (which just goes to show how fucked up we were, that I had to worry about being natural with a guy I've spent over a decade beside and once shared a bedroom with). Sakito continued primping.

“Up to you.”

“I do like going out sometimes,” I assured him, since I was pretty sure I wouldn't be allowed to get away with skiving off twice in a row. “It's just...” How to explain to someone like Sakito the effort it takes someone like _me_ to fit in?

“It's all right, Ruka,” he said quite unconsciously, running a finger along his flushed lower lip. “It's not like you're any kind of social diamond.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Where was the lightning-fast comeback that should have been sitting there on the tip of my tongue, ready to scourge him with caustic wit? Apparently it was having a post-coital snooze, and without it I had nothing to cover the glum, sinking feeling in my stomach. He really _didn't_ want me to go out with them. I couldn't be that much of a killjoy. Could I?

“There's no _law_ that says you have to be good with people,” Sakito continued blithely. “If you like to stay home...well, you should do whatever makes you happy.”

I gave an ambiguous grunt and he kindly shut up while he examined the lovely contours of his mouth in a pocket mirror. Luckily, I'm a master of hiding my emotions behind a wall of blank sulkiness; I would have hated him to see how dismayed and, yes, how _offended_ I was by his offhand comments. He was barely looking at me, and I allowed myself a small sigh of relief because I was sure he hadn't noticed.

Now I know better.

That was just the first time; you can hardly blame me for being clueless. After a while, yes...I began to feel uneasy. But it wasn't until the whole thing had been repeating itself for a month or two that I realised what he was doing, and how cunning it was: letting me have my way and rewarding me for it, indulging me until he had started to isolate me from everyone around me, until I'd learnt to _sit_ and _stay_ and wait for my master to come home.

“How come Ruka's the only lucky bastard who gets nights off all the time?” grumbled Yomi good-naturedly one day, having been forced by Sakito to rearrange his date so he could show his face at some dinner or other. I'd been let off, as usual, and tonight I genuinely wasn't interested in going anyway. There have been times when I'd have liked to, mind, because contrary to popular belief I do actually have friends. At least, I used to.

“Ruka works hard enough,” said Sakito staunchly, “being leader. He deserves a night off.” The other three raised their eyebrows in general amazement at this statement. But the voice of authority had spoken, and that was that.

I kept quiet: I knew just how much Sakito's defence was worth, and what he really thought of me and my contribution to our social sphere. But he got his way, and I got my reward. And I've been increasingly loyal and lonely ever since.

It's got so that the only people I ever see these days are him, the other three, and various work-related staff, because when I'm not working I'm alone, and whenever I'm alone I'm yearning for _him_. I know it's not right, letting him cut me off from everyone. But he's trained me so well I can't stop myself, and he's undermined my confidence in my social abilities deeply enough that I barely even have the desire to resent him.

 

* * *

 

 

So you see, Sakito has more than one ace up his sleeve when it comes to keeping my entire panting, eager self fixed on him. The reward system works frighteningly well, and his quiet, matter-of-fact sexual favours are a potent magnet. But his primary method, until very recently at least, has always been the dogfight; though what he's planning to get out of it in the long run is anyone's guess.

There are two distinct possibilities, and, when I'm in my right mind long enough to think clearly, neither are particularly appealing: he taunts me into violence again and again, and it's either because he needs me to come at him so he can break me down and break me in until I'm perfectly trained and docile, or because he gets a thrill when I'm a vicious, biting bundle of fury and he wants to see me sink even lower. But I'm too ragged, too besotted and angry and sore to work out which would please him most, and _oh_ , I want to please him.

Remember Sakito's photoshoot last year? Yeah, _that_ one. God, it was beautiful: naked as the day he was born, with nothing but a guitar separating music magazine from top-shelf porno. Not that it made much difference: when our manager brought the proof copy round we all took one look at it, gaped, then rushed straight out and bought it. I shudder to think how many staff members' skin bins have have gone up a whole level of class thanks to the purchase.

Sakito was nervous about it beforehand, he said. But he wasn't, not really, not even after he'd told us about it and we'd leched at him, open-mouthed, for about half an hour before giving him our blessing. Sakito was _made_ to be naked, and I should know.

We had a huge fight over it, all the same. I told him (not quite truthfully) that he looked like a whore, mostly because I knew exactly how he'd react, and I was right: he cracked me across the jaw, and once my ears had stopped ringing I had the perfect excuse to grab him by the hair and wrestle him down onto the workstation at his back. He fought me all the way, scratching and hissing like a damn alleycat. Eventually I managed to shove him over onto his stomach, and then I fucked him across the desk and he had nowhere to go, his nimble musician fingers digging into the wood hard enough to raise splinters under his nails as I clamped one hand to the back of his neck. By the time he came he was a laughing, crying mess and I wasn't much better. Every time we did it I thought nothing could feel any worse or any more incredible, and each time he proved me wrong.

His hips were a kaleidoscope of bruises already; I licked my lips, panting, exhausted. He rolled over to give me his patented stare of disgust, somehow managing to look down his nose at me even while lying flat on his back.

“Fuck you,” I told him, and then, “are you okay?” He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath, the quiver of those sweet lips guilting me into concern, as usual. My fingertips brushed his stomach, briefly, the skin silky smooth as a snake.

“...I didn't look like...what you said,” murmured Sakito, a questioning inflection in his unsteady voice. He sat up with difficulty and grabbed my belt-buckle so I couldn't walk away.

“No,” I admitted miserably. “No, you were _beautiful_.” He slid his arms around my waist, just for a moment, and I found myself inhaling the scent of his hair helplessly.

“Thank you.” Sakito reached for his trousers, and winced. “...Help me get dressed.”

I was feeling guilty, so I did; I'd been very rough on him. Kneeling at his feet, smoothing the tight denim up his legs, I caught him smiling down at me in private amusement. And once again I thought to myself: _what am I doing_?

I was more and more conscious of it, see, as the months sped by and the same cycle went on repeating itself. And even the most exhilarating, damning pattern of events will lose its spice when you know exactly what's coming next. Sakito was still cruel, and marvellous, and sex-and-violence games with him were always utterly thrilling, so much so that I'd lose myself in the moment completely. But I was starting to see _past_ the moment, past the pleasure and dull guilt and the mental self-flagellation I ended up wallowing in every time I came to heel.

I had to wonder how long we could keep this up.

I didn't think Sakito had the faintest idea that I was seriously considering a way out – as far as I could tell he didn't pay enough attention to my mind any more to notice what was going through it. So I let him carry on, and every day I felt something inside me draw a little further away from his influence. I was so proud of myself. For a while.

That's right, I underestimated him. Again. Because just as I had come to the inner decision that yes, I _was_ bored of this, he did the cruellest, cleverest thing he could have done.

He kissed me.

 

* * *

  


It should have been a routine evening. There was a drinking party somewhere off Harajuku, and for once it sounded kind of fun: Kei-kun would be there, and between him and Yomi I could hope for some pleasantly geeky chatter and harmless flirting. But, as usual, I responded to Sakito's hints like a good boy and went on home after work.

I was halfway through my bento, reading tipsy texts from Yomi, when I decided that I _did_ want to go. Why shouldn't I? They were my friends too, and I was stronger now; maybe it was time to show Sakito that he didn't own me, that the marks he left on me were only skin deep after all. So off I went, and once I saw what a good time everyone was having I determined that I'd be doing this a _lot_ more often. I'd almost forgotten what it was like.

I'd located Kei-kun and was deep in a nerds-only Akiba conversation when Sakito noticed me. I'd picked him out almost the moment I came in: for me, he shone out in the room like a beacon. I saw his gorgeous head freeze mid-turn, catching sight of me. His eyes widened and narrowed in the time it takes to inhale, and his lovely mouth set in an ambiguous line.

“Ruka?” said Kei-kun, prodding me lightly in the arm. I gave him a reassuring smile, and when I looked again Sakito had turned away. The deeply ingrained training that strove for his approval and cringed at his disappointment made me want to run to him, tail between my legs; that pissed me off, since I was meant to be testing my newly-found independence, and I resolved that I wouldn't go and apologise, and I wouldn't go home. I was having fun, dammit.

Sakito didn't come and speak to me. Occasionally I'd see him looking at me quietly, surrounded by the usual admiring colleagues, and although his expression was perfectly neutral I'd find myself fidgeting nervously under his gaze. But I held out until one in the morning, feeling very pleased with myself.

I should have expected the knock at my door, so soon after I arrived home that he must have followed me. I should also have ignored it. But I'd won my little victory, and I wanted to gloat about it.

“Ruka,” he greeted me ominously, gliding past me to the living room, presumably so we could have our scheduled row in comfort. “I thought you were staying home.”

“Changed my mind.” I kept my body angled away from him, indicating my refusal to engage. “Thought I ought to make a contribution for once.”

“And what contribution do you think you made?” asked Sakito sweetly, somehow managing to make his tone so insulting that the usual urge to punch him in the face set my fingers tingling. But I knew where _that_ led, and if Sakito and I ended up having our usual shattering sex this whole defiant gesture would have been for nothing. So I chained the feeling and dragged it back, replacing it with righteous and carefully cultivated boredom.

He must have read my expression: his brows drew down for an instant in a real scowl, and his head rose even more proudly on that long neck. I put on my most laconic face and braced myself for his assault, determined not to rise to it no matter how cruel he was.

“You-” he began.

“Don't bother.” I was thrilled: I could do this!

Sakito nodded briefly and stepped towards me. I raised my hands reflexively; I didn't want to fight him, not tonight, but my body was poised and ready of its own accord to stop him hurting me. He took no notice of my defensive stance, just slipped into my space, features blank and giving no warning of what he was about to do. I grabbed him by the shoulders, ready to shove him away. Then he kissed me.

It was like the first time he slapped me, only a thousand times more shocking. And intense. And　 _wonderful_. His lips were smooth and yielding beneath mine, and as I drew him towards me helplessly to fold him in my arms he tipped his head back, fitting himself perfectly into my embrace. And I'm completely ashamed to say I didn't hesitate for a moment.

It took the barest nudge to get him to open up, and then I tasted him and it was the most intimate thing I had ever done. My tongue brushed his, daringly, but he didn't bite, just slipped his arms softly around my neck and let me take his weight, and I was glad to do it, forgetting my resentment, all the hard-won distance I'd put between us.

“Saki...” I said feebly, as he paused to snatch a breath. “...What's this _for_...?” His fingertips were gentle on the nape of my neck, and I felt myself flinch with expected pain, a sharp lesson left over from the first time I'd fucked him. But it never came.

“For you.” He whispered it against my mouth, surging up to meet me. For a moment I floundered in confusion, not sure if I should be on the attack or the defence or just delighted; but he was warm and fragrant and _delicious_ , and in the end I had no choice but to roll over and adore him. Remember, I was fucking _starved_ for affection after what felt like an age of strict discipline and punishment, and he knew it. He made me more his in those few seconds than he had in all the long months that preceded them.

“Saki, I-”

“Shhh.” Sakito's fingers trailed musingly down my torso, grasping the hem of my tshirt delicately and pulling it in one smooth movement over my head. With a few light touches he manoeuvred me over to my sofa, and I folded up beneath him as my legs hit. He kissed me again. “Down. Quiet.” And for once in my life I obeyed him without complaint, just a faint whine of surprise and pleasure as his lips left my mouth to brush along my throat and down the centre of my chest. He paused often, sliding back up to kiss me again, my hands buried in his long hair, and the whole thing was so unhurried and exploratory that I hardly knew how I should be reacting.

Another pause, this time to press his flushed cheek against my chest, and I was sure he could hear the rapturous beat of my heart; and right then, believe me, it was beating all for _him_. To my amazement he didn't give the usual possessive, derisive smirk at this sign of desire, but let the curve of his lips part just a little in a real smile. Then more of those kisses, until I thought I could flow all to pieces beneath him and it wouldn't matter because it was so _good_.

Sakito removed his clothes quietly (another landmark event, since he and I rarely managed to have sex without at least a few ripped seams and lost buttons), radiant above me as he slid my underwear down. I let him have it all his own way, and even though I was underneath him right now in a strictly physical sense, I didn't feel beneath him. And that was the first time that had _ever_ happened.

“Ready?” he asked. As if he _needed_ to ask. I nodded wordlessly, still too obedient to his earlier words and befuddled by his sweetness to speak. He took my wrists, sliding my hands over the curve of his ass to his narrow waist, and submitted to being lifted. Then I was inside him and his lashes fluttered closed for a moment as he sank down on my erection, leaning forward when I began to move him.

“ _Nnn_...” He braced a hand on my shoulder, rising lithe and supine above me, the satin curtain of his hair spilling down behind one ear, where silver and diamonds leapt and sparkled in the light. “...Good?” he breathed, another first, and I could do nothing but give him a low, adoring growl of pleasure. That got me another kiss, and the change in angle had me gasping into his mouth. His free hand was dancing leisurely across my body, fond, teasing touches everywhere, until I was flustered into a gratified frenzy of confusion, and all the while his perfect lips were on mine, kissing, speaking, encouraging me, and soon there was nothing left of the sad, angry creature that had confronted him with boredom earlier tonight.

When he came I had a lightning-fast flash of the first time we were together: it was that same blank, angelic face, and for an instant all the fury and unease I'd felt ever since that encounter flared up in me. Then it was gone, and all that was left was his slick, pliant body and the miraculous revelation of his lips on mine. I followed him almost immediately – that's how used to each other we were by then – and I swallowed his moan, my hands cupping his face worshipfully. I got another smile, serene and satisfied, and it dimly occurred to me that everything, all this, being a virtual pet, might be worth it just to see it again.

Afterwards, lying in my bed, my arms wrapped around his beautiful body and my head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder, I felt _blissful_. Really. I wasn't thinking about why he'd done this, or what would happen later. I was barely thinking at all.

Sakito sighed into my hair, his slender fingers stroking lightly against my scalp.

“Are you staying?” I heard myself mumble, lulled by his petting hand.

“Yes.” He was quiet for a minute. “But don't get ahead of yourself, okay? Don't get _excited_.”

“I want to see you tomorrow,” I told him, twisting to press my lips to the smooth juncture of his neck and shoulder, not bothering to analyse what he'd said. I felt him give a tight little smile against my forehead.

“Mm.” He began to stroke the curve of my ear, fingertips gliding over the piercings, and I felt myself growing drowsy. The last thing I heard before I dropped unwillingly into sleep was his thoughtful murmur. “ _Time to put my leash on you, Ruka. Time to rein you in._ ”

  


“I didn't think you meant _literally_ ,” I complained the following night from my kneeling position, dropping my head uncomfortably to allow him access to the back of my neck.

“Indulge me,” said Sakito, sounding as though there was no possibility of me doing anything else, his slim calf braced firmly against my spine. I was about to tell him that I'd thought better of the whole thing when he gave a tug to one of the buckles, snapping my head back and stopping the breath in my throat.

“Fucking _ow_!”

“There,” Sakito said with finality, hand slipping up to caress my chin before he let me go and came round to crouch in front of me. “That's better.” I watched him with an expressionless stare (well, that's what I was going for) as he sat back on his heels and examined the thick leather collar he had just fastened around my neck. Where, when, and most importantly _why_ had he bought it, that's what I wanted to know!

“How does it feel?” he asked curiously, dark eyes giving a brief sparkle of excitement. His pale cheeks were showing two faint spots of colour, and I could tell how pleased the sight of me made him. Oh, and smug. Don't forget smug.

“ _Cheesy_ ,” I snapped, demoralised and cursing myself for thinking that last night's tenderness had meant something. “This is tacky even for _you_.”

Sakito tossed his pretty head, not deigning to reply; he just hooked two fingers through the sturdy metal ring adorning the front of the collar and pulled.

“ _Don't_ ,” I growled warningly. Admitting that I was in total thrall to Sakito was one thing; letting him tug me around like a dog on a lead was quite another. His answer to that was to yank me further forward, forcing me to throw a hand out to keep my balance; I felt a short, sharp pang of arousal, which made me even angrier. Sakito took a cool glance at my face and jerked me closer, wrenching my neck painfully, until I could feel his rapid breath against my lips.

“You look just _fine_ like this,” he whispered.

“I look like an idiot.”

“...So what're you going to do about it?” He twisted his fingers and the thick leather tightened around my throat. Without even thinking about it I knocked his hand away and slammed him down roughly on his back, pushing myself between his legs. Sakito smiled defiantly and arched up against me, exhaling sharply in satisfaction as he felt me hard and excited against his thigh. I groaned silently to myself: was I really that predictable?

“Take it off,” I told him furiously, trying to ignore the slow roll of his hips against mine. I didn't know why I couldn't remove the damn collar myself; but, looking at him, something stopped me, and with a thrill of dismay I realised there was a part of me that _wanted_ it. He licked his exquisite lips and I caught my breath, remembering his taste.

“I want it on.” He ran his fingers beneath the collar and I shuddered as he spoke against my ear. “My big, bad-tempered, obedient _dog_...”

That was enough. I really _was_ going to hit him this time, I didn't care what happened to that face. I raised my hand, and in a flash his arm was around my neck and he was kissing me. His tongue slid between my teeth and I heard myself give a low moan into his mouth; then I was lost.

If I took away any lesson, it was this: _don't bite the hand that feeds you, and you might get fed_. And I learned it well.

It was always the same, after that night: if Sakito was in the mood to be hurt he'd let me; if not he'd get that _look_ in his eye, that soft, amorous look, and the next thing I knew his sweet lips would be on mine and I'd find myself making love to him like...well, like I _loved_ him.

I don't, you know. I _used_ to, like I love the others, like you love your best friends. So I know what it feels like; and I miss it. I want him back, that cute, vain, dorky Saki everyone gets to enjoy except me. The thing is, when I'm with him, drowning in the beauty of his body and tangled in the net of control he's woven so skilfully around me, it's very hard to remember wanting anything else.

 

* * *

  


I'm still trying to remember it while I'm sitting in a hotel bar in Osaka, waiting for him to call. We're on tour again, small livehouses this time, and our set lists read like a retrospective of our entire lives together, songs that reach back to before Ultimate Circus, even. The nostalgia is intense and has thrown me into a month-long mood of focused, melancholy discontent, because every live draws me back to a time when we were straightforward and _perfect_ together, Sakito and I and all of us, before any of this began. It was Sakito's idea, the Mimic the Past theme; and I'm still wondering _why_.

Right now I'm wondering slightly drunkenly; some of the guys and their techs went out partying after tonight's live, Sakito included, but I stayed behind in the hotel bar, because...well, I guess I've explained why. So here I am, drinking and waiting for Sakito to message me and summon me to his bed to tell me what a good boy I've been, just like he promised he would. They're back now, though I've seen neither hide nor hair of him; I only know it because Ni~ya-chan has decided to come and keep me company, hastening my tipsiness with his lightning-fast consumption of rounds of Jack Daniels.

I check my phone surreptitiously. He _must_ be pleased with me, I stayed behind, after all, even knowing perfectly well by now why he likes it this way. And he always rewards me. Nearly always. Sometimes. _Fuck_.

“What's with you?” asks Ni~ya-chan, knocking back another drink and breaking in on my thoughts. “So bloody _fidgety_!” I hastily stop fiddling with my phone, and take a calming breath.

“Don't know what you're talking about.”

“You've got this look on...like a dog waiting for his dinner.” This, as you may have gathered by now, has become a dirty word for me ever since Sakito collared me that night, and without meaning to I snap at him.

“Lay the fuck off. I do _not_.”

“Come off it,” says Ni~ya-chan, unperturbed. “I can practically see your tail wagging!” He realises he's hit a nerve, and stares at me curiously, mouth quirked up at the corner.

I growl at him, hackles rising (see? I'm even _thinking_ in these fucking metaphors!), and he grins wider, waiting. And suddenly I've had enough, because he's _right_ ; I've known it for a long time, but Ni~ya-chan is the first person to vocalise it: I am Sakito's _dog_ , and hearing it out loud has an electric effect.

I'm on my feet in one swift movement, and I can feel the tension, the urge, thrumming through every muscle. Ni~ya-chan raises his eyebrows, but I ignore him because if I don't take advantage of this galvanising moment I'll never forgive myself. I set my glass down carefully.

“Tired already?” says Ni~ya-chan, mildly surprised, as if it wasn't 2.30 in the morning. I am. That's exactly what I am: I'm tired of this, of being his, of _him_ ; I'm especially tired, right now, of being left down here, unsummoned and lonely. And it's time to put an end to it. I stalk out of the bar, my feet finding the stairs in the darkness; he's up there, and even now I can feel his pull, his presence, drawing me towards him like a bloodhound on the trail. But I don't want to be his dog any more. No. I want to be a _wolf_.

As I approach his corridor I find myself baring my teeth in something that isn't a smile. It's a better metaphor: wolves don't have masters. I reach his door. Edokawa Sakito, hear me howl!

  


His door is unlocked, and I slide soundlessly inside, toeing my shoes off in the entrance to pad silently across the room in the half-dark. Sakito _is_ here; I sense him before I see him, his slim figure almost buried in the deep duvet like a flower under snow. He's asleep: I can hear his soft breathing, his body limp and relaxed in the covers' embrace.

He's beautiful. God, he is, and it hits me like it always does as I approach him, noiseless, ears pricked for any signs of waking. I hover anxiously by his bed, not daring to touch it in case he registers me. He looks completely serene like this, delicate features smooth and innocent of any of the expressions he uses to keep me in my place when he's awake. I let my gaze travel down his body, thoughtfully; he's so very slender, and I could hurt him really, really badly if I wanted to. I　 _do_ want to. I consider the brand new wolf inside me, and it says: stop considering. Stop _thinking_. You want an end to this? That's what claws and teeth are for!

I flex my fingers automatically; I don't think I've ever been as aware of my own body as I am now, and it's a heady feeling; coupled with the months of caged, resentful anger I've built up inside me, it would be so very easy to take care of things this way.

I begin to lean over him, scarcely a thought left in my head, when the dull gleam of metal catches my eye: his phone. It's clutched loosely in his pale fingers as if he were in the middle of typing when he fell asleep. Perhaps...perhaps he was messaging _me_. Maybe he _did_ plan to reward me, after all. And all of a sudden the dog is back and wants its master, and the wolf is being dragged, shackled and snarling, back into the dark. God-fucking-dammit.

No doubt the next few minutes would look both creepy and hilarious to anyone watching, as I stand beside his bed and let my instincts war with each other, the tame and the wild, in complete silence. Probably I'm wearing a totally stupid face, and my fingers might twitch occasionally as the wolf urges me to go for the throat, but that's about it.

In the end I decide to compromise: I won't use violence. Yet. It's something Sakito has always encouraged, relished in me in any case, and though I _know_ it would feel good I'm not sure how effective it would be. I'm going to hurt him; I'm sure of that. But I've got a _brain_ , so I'll try using that first. Wolves...they're cunning, right? So maybe I can figure out how to injure him in a way that won't get me arrested and that will leave me my liberty, if not my career.

I'm still thinking it out when he shifts, one limber, graceful stretch. Then he's awake. He opens his eyes and gives a little start as he sees my looming shape in the dimness.

“Sakito,” I greet him, fists clenched where he can't see them.

“...Oh,” says Sakito, sitting up amid the covers. “It's you.” For a moment he blinks sleepily, then appears to sharpen up; he peers down at his phone. “I never finished texting you. But here you are for your reward...” His gaze flicks up to meet mine, and it takes every bit of my effort to hide the battle still raging behind my eyes.

“No.” Oh good, I sound calm. More or less. Sakito wakes up a bit more and reaches out languidly to grab my wrist.

“No?” He frowns prettily as I tug my arm back, clearly puzzled. “Come on. I promised. I want you.”

“Not now.” He's pink and warm with sleep, the lovely curves of his lips parting thoughtfully as he regards me, and nothing has ever been so hard as finishing this sentence in the face of all that beauty. “Not ever. I...don't want this any more, Saki, I came to tell you. It's _over_.”

Sakito gives me the same look of astonishment you'd give your pet chihuahua if it upped and started talking to you. I think I'm getting through to him. But no, he just shoots me one of his pitying smiles and leans up towards me, taking hold of my belt, nails scraping deliciously through my tshirt. I feel a rush of pure panic because the well-trained part of me wants to respond, to give all this up and revel in the pleasure only my master's touch can bring; and as I'm teetering on the brink the wolf slips its chain and bounds forward.

Without pausing to think and without my brain's permission I raise my arm and strike him hard and fast across the face, hand curled loosely. His head snaps to the side and I catch his sharp exclamation of pain and surprise. All at once I'm excited, staring down at him, breath coming rapidly. But I know that for a warning sign: I have to stop, _now_ , because this is a feeling I need to avoid if I'm ever going to win against him. It feels too good when I let myself go, and I can't think straight if I do.

“I don't _want_ you,” I tell him coldly, mastering the overwhelming desire to hit him again; the wolf slinks sulkily back to its den.

Sakito is exactly as I left him, hand to his cheek where one of my nails has torn a thin, jagged line of red into his skin. Claws, indeed. As I draw my body back under control he turns to look up at me, and to my horror I see his fine eyes gleaming with the familiar defiant arousal I know has been reflected in my own glare a hundred times since we began this travesty of a relationship. This is the first time I've gone so far as to really hit him, and the intensity shining out of him is appalling. And dangerous.

“That _hurt_ , Ruka,” says Sakito, sounding both shocked and impressed. No, no no! This is exactly what I just decided wouldn't happen. But I can feel my hands tremble, my entire body quivering with the urge to hurt him and make him happy. The obedient dog says please him, because he's beautiful and compelling and because I need an owner. The wolf says tear him to shreds. It's much the same either way, and can only end badly, because I don't know if he could stop me or if he would even try.

He gives me an apprehensive, eager stare, the lovely lines of him tense and expectant. My upper lip curls back from my teeth in a silent growl. But I won't do this. I won't. For what seems an age we remain frozen in place, waiting to see if I'll master myself. And, slowly and painfully, I do it. But all that thwarted energy and anger has to go somewhere; I struggle to keep my mouth shut, and fail.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” I demand ferociously. “The usual Freudian nightmare?” Oh god. My tongue is about to stampede. “Is there some big traumatic event in your past that means you can only relate to your lovers when they're beating the shit out of you?! So the only way you can feel good about yourself is making them feel, like, an _inch tall_ afterwards? Tell me there is, and I'll try and get my head round it, because nothing about you makes _any_ sense.”

“Sorry,” says Sakito, with an inappropriate level of dignity for someone who's being raved at by a neurotic madman. “But there isn't. There really isn't.” He looks almost apologetic about it, and still disturbingly horny.

“Then I suppose you're just a psychopath.”

“Me!” he retorts mildly, my hand print glowing on his cheek. “I'm not the one snarling like a fucking police dog gone rabid.”

“No, you just want to fuck with me until one of us is ready for the emergency room or the psych ward.” I rein myself in until my voice sounds almost the way I want it, chilly and derisive as his has always been with me. “ _That's_ normal.” He doesn't like that, I can tell, but he's still supremely confident. He swings his legs round to sit with ankles crossed on the bed and settles in to watch me make a fool of myself.

“I don't need it any more,” I tell him, seething beneath my skin and cold on the surface. “If I want sexy crazy I'll just watch Silence of the Lambs and get over it.”

“You know you'll never-” begins Sakito, with a curl of his delicate lip.

“Never what?” I interrupt him, because if I let him get going I'll lose my flow. “Never get over it? Never find someone as good as you for the likes of _me_?” He rolls his eyes and subsides. “That's just you all over, isn't it. You're so fucking _pretty_ and you think it makes you a better person than everyone around you. Well, you're not! Behind that face and that body, what is there?” I gesture coolly from his head to his toes. “You tell people you're insecure, and easily taken in, and that's why you never show your feelings. But you and I know perfectly well that it's because you barely　 _have_ any. You are one cold bitch, Sakito. That beautiful face, the way you look so serene? It's a mask, yeah, but the thing you don't like people finding out is that there's _nothing underneath it_.”

I note that Sakito's mouth has dropped open slightly during the course of this statement, but I have no time to be happy about it, not if I hope to get through every one of his faults before the sun comes up.

“That's why _my_ songs get picked for singles first,” I add, in a flash of inspiration. He cocks his head, puzzled, lips now pressed in a tight, thoughtful line. “They're not as complicated as yours, I know, but even when they're just scraps of paper and a drum track the other guys _get_ them, there are feelings _in them_ , see? But _you_ need Yomi to give yours life, 'cos apart from this one vein of crazy” – I wave my hand about to indicate the general madness of our relationship – “you're as shallow as fucking _Barbie_.”

“...For a shallow bitch who writes such mediocre music,” he remarks snappishly, “I think I do all right. At least I _have_ a social life.” I skip over the obvious fact that my current lack of friends is almost entirely due to him, and dive back in with my next thought.

“Of course you do,” I agree easily. “Because you're beautiful and successful. You think anyone would look twice at you without your body or your band?”

“...Yes.”

“Maybe you _are_ as naïve as you say you are.” I give him a patronising glance, which feels great. “People don't _like_ you, and you only keep them around if they're people you can use. You're a　 _user_ , Sakito, even if you don't know it. But I think you do.”

“That isn't true,” he whispers.

“Is that why you've kept Hitsu-kun pinned to your side since you were school kids?” I ask, cruelly. “Because you need him near you to give other people the _illusion_ that there's some warmth to you? He's so sweet, he'd never think any worse of you even if he noticed. But it's not a generous thing to do. And let's not even get on to what you've been doing to _me_.”

“If that's what you think of me,” says Sakito, and for the first time I detect the barest hint of injured pride in his low voice, “then that's fine.”

“It is.” I set my hands on my hips. “And I'll tell you what _else_ I think...” I see him wince; it's well hidden, but it's there. I let my smile of satisfaction burn in my eyes.

I continue my cold, furious spiel of accurate observations on his character – and there are plenty of them – until he's pale and trembling with anger under the sting of it. I never thought Sakito would cry under anyone's insults, let alone mine; but he's close.

At last I run out of things to say, once I've finished exposing every one of his vices and twisting his virtues so they seem almost as bad. I've done what I wanted, what the wolf wanted: I've torn him apart from the outside in, and I barely had to lay a finger on him. I come to a halt, panting. It felt every bit as good as I thought it would, as fierce and savage as he has always liked me.

Sakito _is_ crying now, though I can't see it: face curtained by his long hair and utterly silent, the only thing that gives him away is the quiver of his narrow shoulders. Or he could be laughing. God, what if he's laughing? I ball my hands as I wait, nails biting into my palms in the effort to stay composed.

He raises his head, and I see it's both: the tears are spilling over his lashes, and he's smiling through them. I don't know what he expects me to do, so I just raise my eyebrows icily and keep quiet. He observes this, and grins wider. Then he heaves a shuddering sigh and straightens up. Collecting my courage, I look him in the eyes, and see...I don't know what. Maybe I should leave while I still have the last word, and worry about my future tomorrow. But before I can move he astonishes me by holding out his right hand.

“All right,” he says, voice tremulous where he's been crying but otherwise perfectly calm. “You win.”

“...What?” is all I can come up with. Sakito shakes his head briefly, a pained expression flashing across his bruising face.

“You're a son of a bitch, Ruka,” he continues. “I never thought you'd have the _front_. But you did. You win. We're done.”

“I...What's with the damn _smile_ , then?” I demand, unnerved. He wipes his eyes.

“No-one...has ever spoken to me like that before. No-one's ever _hurt_ me like that.” I sniff coolly.

“Yeah, well. No-one knows you like I do.”

“Out of everyone who's taken up the challenge,” Sakito says, “nobody has played the game as well as you. No-one's ever got this far, or been this _good_.” He sounds truly impressed.

“The _game_.” Is that what this is? All this? He _is_ fucking crazy. I sit down heavily on the bed beside him, and he shifts along obligingly to make room. And, bizarrely, I barely feel the creep of danger and desire that always edges over my skin when I'm in close proximity with him. I take a moment to congratulate myself; I'm sure it's because I've finally gained the upper hand. But beyond that, it's something in _him_ that's changed, and all I'm getting off him now is the satisfied, exhausted comradeship between one master craftsman and another. Or athletes, or fighters. Or something like that. “Want to explain?” I ask, finally.

“People are so _easy_ ,” he says quietly, sniffing. I pass him a tissue. “You were, at first. Getting you to focus your entire self on me, all that hate and adoration and passion. Feels amazing, right? Bad or good, doesn't matter; just _intense_.” I stare at him; well, I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting the truth of it. He sighs. “And most people never get further than that. Guys, girls, they're the same: after a while they get boring. But _you_...It was harder to keep your attention. Had to go to the next stage.”

“Which is?” As if I didn't know. But this is fascinating, in a sick sort of way.

“Isolation. Not many people get that far. But you weren't taking it seriously, I didn't have a choice.” He gives a reminiscing smile. “And it's not like it was such a chore, rewarding you.”

“Thanks a bunch. And then?” I prompt him, like a kid prodding at a loose tooth to see how far he can twist it before it hurts.

“Ahh...You know. You must remember. You were bored again. And I didn't want to lose you...so I kissed you.” How could I not remember? Of all the months we spent playing this 'game,' that was the one perfect night. I'll never forget it. Sakito rubs absently at his cut cheek. “Only one person has ever forced my hand like that before. And even she never made it to the end. No-one but _you_ , Ruka. No-one has done what you've done.”

“...What have I done?” I ask, curious. This is the weirdest praise I've ever received.

“Hurt me,” he states, and laughs again. I start to open my mouth, but he isn't finished. “Oh, I'm not talking about sex. Though if it means anything, you were the best at that too. _Really_. So vicious.” He sighs regretfully. “But no. I mean tonight. You're the first person to leave me of their own volition. And the first to make me feel... _this_.” He sets one slender hand over his chest.

“Am I supposed to know what that means? Make you feel _what_?” He closes his eyes for a moment, and two lingering tears creep down his cheeks.

“Anything. Anything this _profound_ towards another person.” I must look totally befuddled, because he apparently feels the need to explain himself. “It's not that I'm some kind of robot. I feel things. But my life is so _good_ , the feelings...they're all bright and safe and _comfortable_. And I...”

“And you want the darkness.” Amazing. I know exactly what he's talking about now, and it's almost funny that he has to work so hard to feel something that comes so naturally to me. “You really _are_ a masochist, aren't you.”

“Well, you've called me worse things tonight.”

“You're an idiot.” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “And that's what you've been fucking up my life for? _That's_ why you made me your dog? So you could enjoy the emotional equivalent of extreme potholing?”

“The best I've ever had.” Sakito bumps his shoulder against my arm. I twitch away from him, more out of habit than anything else. He shrugs. “I'd keep you if I could. You're a pretty volatile pet, but you'd make a great guard dog.” He grins at my expression. “Too soon?”

“Much,” I say tightly, grimacing at the metaphor.

“I know,” admits Sakito. “That's why I said you've won. It could never be as good again. I suppose...it's time to pick someone new.”

“It never _was_ good.”

“Maybe not for you,” he says, looking both resigned and deeply satisfied. “But for me...I couldn't ask for a better opponent.”

“I'm not interested in being your damn opponent!” I wonder if I'll feel the same in the future, lying in my bed and remembering the marvels of his body. Yes. I'm pretty sure I will. Sakito gives me a level look, beautiful eyes red-rimmed and benign.

“How about a bandmate?”

“I...Yes,” I say, after a moment's reflection. It's a whole hell of a lot more than I'd expected to come out of this with, and more than _he_ could have hoped for. He must know it, how lucky he is to walk away tonight with just an aching cheek, his body and band intact. “For now...I think I can manage that.”

“And after that?”

“...We'll see.” I narrow my eyes. “So long as you always remember that Nightmare is _mine_ to lead. You can play around with it to your heart's content, you can even boss me about at work if you like. You may have been my master, but don't forget: I am your _leader_. Okay?”

“Done,” says Sakito, and this time when he holds out his hand I shake it. The touch of his skin is still a forerunner of pain and pleasure; guess my body will take some time to unlearn the lessons beaten into it, and for a second I feel a wash of regret that I'll never feel him naked and pressed against me again. But that's a small price to pay to finally feel like a person. The thought is liberating, and once I let go I find I'm smiling at him, faint and bitter but a smile all the same; because however beautiful and screwed up he is and however low I've sunk for him in the past, Sakito and I are the same, at last.

I'm not a wolf. And I'm nobody's dog. I'm _human_.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Out of all the Sakito I've written over the years, Evil Sakito is by far the most fun to write. I wonder why?  
> Maybe Ruka deserves to get his comeuppance at last, given what a jerk I usually make him...


End file.
